


Odaxelagnia

by aesterismo



Category: Persona 3
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 15:15:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aesterismo/pseuds/aesterismo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He forgets, really, where it all began or how he’s sure it’ll end - but for the moment, Akihiko is content to bear the fruits of her restless pursuit for perfection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Odaxelagnia

She never needs to explain.

Three rules exist in their unspoken policy.  First: leave no marks in visible locations and clean up after yourself.  Second: what happens in the bedroom stays in the bedroom - and, alternatively, anything that relates to Tartarus, SEES, and their everyday lives stays out of the bedroom.

Finally: when outside matters _do_ end up changing the bedroom dynamic, they each get a single selfish request to fulfill in the arms of the other.

Out of all their unspoken rules, Akihiko likes the third one the very most.

He knows his many vices, quirks, and inclinations a little too well by now.   So does Mitsuru, no doubt, what with the way she always indulges him.

Always.

However selfish, however indirect, Akihiko feels no sense of obligation from her.  Not when the slightest nod, the softest sigh, the barest brush of fingertips beckons him back, back, back against the pillows until she tells him - with a vehemence, an inner strength, that sends his pulse racing like the schoolboy he’ll likely always be around her, an empress in her own right and the only woman to command his heart - to leave the rest up to her.

As if he expects anything less. As if he could ask for anything more.

He forgets to ask for more.  Much as he wants to, much as his impatience persists, much as his desire screams for some way to relieving the friction, Mitsuru holds him still with a grip on his wrists and a shift of her hips and a hushed whisper of _wait_ that sends a thrill through him, if only because this is exactly what he wanted.

What he always wants.  What she never refuses him, no matter how late or how unreasonable his request is.

He forgets to ask for more than this: the sheets tangling around their twined legs, the restraint that he can easily break through but prefers (just as he prefers Mitsuru hovering above him, leaving red wherever she touches and siphons the tension from beneath his skin, marking him from the cleft of his shoulder to the faint lines of almost-formed muscle below his navel, teeth and tongue and hands and breath almost too much and yet not enough, not quite—), gaze burning bright when his unsteady palms settle on her waist and a breathless murmur of thanks against the slope of her heaving chest makes her lips quirk upward, and the cursory glance at the quarter-moon shining bright from the overhead window reminds him that they aren’t apart from their vices or forays into wish-fulfillment, far from it.

He forgets, really, where it all began or how he’s sure it’ll end (with them parting, no doubt, like ocean waves divergent or the clouds which give way to clearer skies, lonelier still for the memories made but the remnants of time spent together impossible to erase), but for the moment, Akihiko is content to bear the fruits of her restless pursuit for perfection.

No words of reassurance can quite convey what he already thinks of her (his world, he decides, would be hers in an instant if she so commanded it) and all the ways their arrangement gives them both exactly what they need.


End file.
